


“A good result all round.”

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: First Kisses [27]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 13:11:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15268209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: Continuing the series of shorts of possible first kisses between these two. Got a few ideas. Feel free to submit prompts for anything you’d like to see in the comments below or over on Tumblr at lulacat3.





	“A good result all round.”

**Author's Note:**

  * For [die_Frau](https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_Frau/gifts), [Nessa_Val](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nessa_Val/gifts).



> A gift for Die_Frau and Nessa_Val. Thank you for the prompts!
> 
> Die_Frau: “With all this World Cup madness, what about Corm and Robin watching an Arsenal (or England) match where the team come from behind and win, and Strike, in his happy delirium, kisses Robin?”
> 
> Nessa_Val: “It's all about FIFA world cup right now (at least here!). I thought that Strike would definitely support England. But they lost yesterday. I am upset. So maybe some sort of an AU game, where they win? And Corm is over the top happy. The game starts quite early I suppose. And when it's over Robin is still in the office.”

 

Robin frowned at her notes. Inspiration wasn’t flowing today. Normally she just typed everything up without too much hesitation, but today the sentences were too long and rambling, her usual concise style eluding her. It didn’t help that her partner was being so distracting.

Strike was in theory working in his office, and she had already got up and closed the interconnecting door pointedly when he shouted once too often, but she could still hear him. He was listening to the England match on the radio.

The first shout had made her jump out of her skin, as she hadn’t realised he was even listening. Then there had been some grumbling about the defence, and aspersions cast on the quality of the referee’s eyesight. She rolled her eyes fondly. He’d gone briefly quieter after she closed the door, but it hadn’t lasted.

Robin wasn’t normally a football lover. She had vaguely followed it all her life - hard not to in a houseful of brothers - but Matthew had been all about rugby and so her interest had waned a little. But she, like the rest of the country, had been quite swept up in World Cup fever. The team were doing unexpectedly well after years of poor performances. She half wished they had taken the afternoon off to watch it, like the rest of London seemed to have done.

Another shout and a bang made her jump again, and she made up her mind. She saved her file, switched off the computer and picked up her jacket and bag. She went through to Strike’s office.

He wasn’t even pretending to work now, leaning over the radio, holding up a hand to forestall anything she might have had to say. She watched his concentration with fond amusement and waited.

A whistle blew, and Strike sat back, scowling. “2-1 down at half time,” he said in exasperation. “We’ve been doing so well.”

He appeared to notice Robin properly for the first time, taking in her jacket and bag. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Yes,” she said, “and so are you. Come on. Second half in the pub on the big screen TV.”

He looked at his watch. “It’s only ten to four,” he said.

Robin raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re not doing any work at all, and I’m barely managing anything useful with all the yelling,” she said, and he gave the guilty grin that made her heart flip, the grin that made him look like a mischievous boy. “I’m pulling rank on you and declaring the office closed for the day,” she added.

He didn’t need much persuading. He closed the laptop, shuffled his notes into a neater pile and turned the radio off.

They locked up and descended to the street. Strike lit a cigarette and they walked to the pub, more briskly than usual. Robin supposed they wouldn’t have a hope of getting a seat, and she was right. The pub was jam-packed, loud and jovial. She was glad of Strike’s bulk to follow through the crowds as they wrestled their way to the bar and bought drinks. To her amusement, Strike ordered two rounds.

“Saves fighting our way back here during the match,” he said, grinning cheekily at her accusing look. The second half was just kicking off as they made their way to a space by the wall. All eyes in the pub were immediately riveted on the game again.

Robin had to admit, watching it in a crowd was a whole different experience. The swell of emotion that rippled around the room as the play went one way or another was intoxicating. She found herself enjoying watching the people as much as the match.

She found herself enjoying watching Strike even more. He was totally absorbed, a pint in each hand (though he was soon down to one). She was fascinated at his involvement, tense one minute, urging the team on the next, occasionally shouting, along with most of the rest of the pub. She was mesmerised. She tried not to stare too much, but it was kind of... attractive. Stop it, she told herself. You’re supposed to be getting a grip on this silly crush on your boss, getting over it. It didn’t help that he occasionally caught her eye and threw her a big smile that made her heart flutter. He was so gorgeous when he smiled. She shook her head and resolved to concentrate on the match.

Just in time, because England scored again, and the room erupted with yelling and cheering and high-fives. Pints were spilled, people jumped up and down. Strike gave a great shout and held his beer aloft, and Robin giggled at his delight. The happiness in the room was infectious.

Gradually as time went on, the tension in the room ramped up. A draw wouldn’t do, there had to be a winner. Robin knew enough to know there would be extra time and penalties if it finished a draw. She was starting to feel quite tipsy - it was a long time since lunch and she was well into her second glass now. Strike had finished his beers, she noticed. Glasses were stacked everywhere, and the poor lad on glass collecting duty, fighting his way through the crowds, wasn’t keeping up.

Ten minutes to go. Robin’s glass was mysteriously empty now. This is what happens when you stand and hold it, she thought. You keep sipping. She left Strike absorbed in the match and made her way to the bar while it was relatively quiet, all eyes glued to the screen.

She bought another pint and a wine and made her way back. Strike had managed to grab a chair at the end of the table. She put the pint in front of him and he immediately went to stand. “You have the chair,” he said, still watching the dying minutes of the match.

She put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. “You keep it,” she said, knowing he’d refuse. He wouldn’t be seen to be sitting and make her stand, and only she knew he needed the seat more than she did.

To her surprise he acquiesced, and to her shock he patted his good knee and said, “Come on, then, let’s share.”

She looked at him sideways. “You want me to sit on your knee?” she asked sceptically.

He glanced up at her and straight back to the screen. “Just sit,” he said. “I’m not being improper, Ilsa’s perched on my knee loads of times over the years in pubs this busy.”

Robin glanced around. She supposed it wasn’t exactly an intimate thing, with the pub this crowded. Strike’s other leg was against that of the person the other side, and even balanced on his knee she’d be touching shoulders with someone else.

She perched on the edge of his knee, elbows resting on the table, and tried very hard not to notice how strong and firm his thigh was beneath her.

“Bloody hell, we’re going to go to extra time,” Strike grumbled as the clock ticked down and injury time began. “And they’re tired, we might lose if they have to play another half an hour.” He was still utterly focused on the game, and Robin relaxed a little and concentrated too.

The tension in the pub was palpable now. Neither team wanted to go to extra time, and risks were being taken. One minute of injury time, two. A shout went up as the opposition nearly scored, and cheers erupted for Pickford’s fingertip save. Almost silence for the corner that followed, and cheers as the ball was batted away harmlessly. Then suddenly England were on the break, and half the pub rose to its feet, yelling their team on.

Strike leaned forward, shouting too, his shoulder against hers now, but even Robin was swept away in the football as the players raced downfield with a surprising turn of speed, the defenders catching up. They weren’t going to make it. But suddenly out of nowhere, the setup was made, the cross, the ball slotted into the goal, and the linesman’s flag stayed down.

The pub erupted. Everyone on their feet leapt. Chairs went flying. Strangers hugged one another.

And Strike seized Robin’s face in his hands and kissed her full on the mouth.

It was a chaste, if jubilant, kiss. But Robin almost jumped out of her skin at the feel of him, at the heat that swept through her. Her hands found his shoulders to push him away, but somehow instead she was pulling him closer. A long beat passed and he pulled back, flushed, still joyous at the goal, but their eyes met and he stilled suddenly.

There was a pause in which the jubilation around them seemed to fade into the background. They stared at one another. Then he slowly leaned forward and kissed her again, and this time it was anything but chaste. His lips moved gently over hers, his hands sliding from her cheeks into her hair, and her fingers tightened on his shoulders.

Robin shuddered and pressed nearer, parting her lips as he kissed her, and his tongue came tentatively to meet hers. She jumped a little at the feel of him, and her arms slid around his neck, pulling him closer.

The final whistle sounded and the pub was one big party. Strike and Robin broke apart, laughing breathlessly, and joined in the cheers. There were a few minutes of pure party atmosphere and shared joy, slaps on the back from strangers, hugs and kisses all round. Then the queue for the bar started again and people turned back to their friends to chat and analyse.

Robin looked shyly back at Strike, and he was grinning at her, a goofy smile that made her heart sing and her face flush. He slid his arm round her waist and pulled her in to him as she sat on his knee, leaning to kiss her again. And then again.

Robin broke away, giggling. “We’re in the pub,” she said, smiling at him.

“Don’t care,” he said, kissing her again, and then nuzzling into her neck. He sighed, contented, and sat back.

“A good result all round,” he said, slyly, and she blushed again.

“I’m hungry,” he added. “Let’s go somewhere quieter for dinner.”

Robin nodded.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I’m slightly out of order with the requests now as this one had to queue jump while the football is still on!


End file.
